|
|
|
|
|
|
John d'Alberin, rushing to help, was knocked off his feet by the haft of the spear. Two of Simon's castellans, just on Sir John's heels, finally pinned the already dying piglet to the ground. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Pembroke had caught the sow full in the chest with his spear, but the angle was wrong. The spear had touched no vital spot and the haft broke in his hands as he struggled to hold the enormous animal. A huntsman plunged forward, knife bared, only to be bowled over. Alinor wrenched her mare sideways, thrusting down as the sow threw Pembroke off a shoulder. The spear entered the thick neck midway between shoulder and head and passed down without obstruction. Alinor shrieked an oath, thinking she, too, had missed, but blood suddenly gushed like a fountain between the sow's legs. By chance, Alinor had nicked the jugular. The violence of the sow herself had burst the vein. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Leicester, who was farthest from the point at which the sow and her young had erupted, had had time to collect his wits. He was able to take decent aim and skewer the second young one without mishap. This, however, left him with nothing but his hunting knife in hand to withstand the charge of the third, who had followed hard on the heels of his littermate. Crouching slightly, Leicester swung the knife up in an underhand blow. He did not catch the throat as he had hoped, but he did deflect the charge of the piglet just enough so that Sir Giles of Iford could finish it off. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Slowly the chaos of squealing pigs, yelping dogs, shouting men and violent physical activity began to die down. Everyone stood, panting and gazing around at the little clearing which was now almost carpeted with bodies. Dead dogs and dead pigs lay everywhere. Injured men groaned and struggled upright. Pembroke passed a bloody hand across his face in a kind of stunned amazement, levered himself up on his feet, and looked up at Alinor. Slowly a beatific smile of pleasure spread across his now blood-streaked features. |
|
|
|
|
|